Stones for the River

I Open My Door

2012-02-25T10:08:00.001+11:00

I open my door

to the wet world

morning after rain

the temperature now

cooling to autumn

even the near hills

are hidden by cloud

and the trees

in the still air

drip gently

From the Clouds

2012-02-11T17:49:00.001+11:00

From the clouds piled above the mountains

tendrils of light reach down into crevices,

long white fingers probing.

Looking at those hills

2012-01-31T20:40:00.003+11:00

Looking at those hills

I know an old home of mine

is still there beyond them.

This Kaleidoscope

2012-01-30T21:26:00.003+11:00

This kaleidoscope that Janet gave me
twenty years ago
has never left my desk —
whatever desk, in whatever house.

Tiny gold tube
in slim black drawstring bag
of hard-wearing felt
(more like charcoal grey by now)

it’s a miniature kaleidoscope,
designed for reminding me
of childhood dreams
with grown-up elegance.

I hold it to the light
and turn the end.
The coloured lumps of glass
tumble, forming flowers and stars.

Mouths

2012-01-29T21:54:00.002+11:00

They are attracted,
you can see in their mouths
which look at each other like hungry eyes,
talk to each other like making kisses.

A Dry Day

2012-01-28T23:55:00.001+11:00

A dry day (mostly)
though heavy with cloud.
Town is grey,
empty. Even the air
feels exhausted.

There’s a piquant smell
not quite sour
not quite sweet —
some kind of plant
reacting with all that water?

The fallen frangipanni flowers

2012-01-26T23:35:00.002+11:00

The fallen frangipanni flowers
white with yellow-gold centres
are like five-pointed stars
only softer, rounder. Their texture
looks somewhat like cream,
somewhat like very fine velvet.
Up the trumpet-shaped back
of the bloom, where it wants a stem,
are fine pink lines and green
fanning to the ends of the petals.

Sheltering

2012-01-25T10:38:00.002+11:00

Hunched, wet-feathered
on the veranda railings,
two Noisy Miners
don’t even squawk
when I open the door,
don’t even bother to move.
The street is awash, the sky
obliterated. This once
I don’t chase them away.

Suburban Vignette

2012-01-24T21:23:00.000+11:00

Steady, heavy rain all morning.
Driving home up the hill, I see
that old dog, Coco, hunched
wet and shivering, poohing
in someone else’s gutter
across the road from his house.

Riding the Dragon

2012-01-23T20:29:00.002+11:00

I cast circle,
ignite a red candle.
His white hair
shines in the light.

He closes his eyes
for the ritual,
speaks firmly aloud
his New Year desires.

He asks
to get closer to God,
resolves
to meditate on this.

Then, turning his hands,
he gives
energy back to the earth
with gratitude. So do I.

More Rain Coming

2012-01-22T22:50:00.001+11:00

Crickets loud
in misty dusk,
black shapes of birds
flying fast into dying light,
clouds looming grey.

He sleeps pale

2012-01-21T23:01:00.001+11:00

He sleeps pale
translucent,
wakes to talk of dying.

When I tickle him,
blood returns
with his laughter.

Submitted for dverse OpenLink Night #28

Bright

2012-01-20T18:17:00.000+11:00

The flame trees are out now
all over the place,
orangey red
against our dear, drab greens:
explosions of sudden joy.

Smells of the Town

2012-01-19T22:34:00.003+11:00

Perfume from one pharmacy, faint and floral. A sort of sterilised smell from the next, almost a non-smell, but stifling.

From the Austral Cafe I expect warm, savoury odours of the all-day breakfast, but there is only a whiff of tobacco from the cigarette butts in the ashtray outside.

The day is hot but there is just a trace in the air of the smell of coming rain.

In Coles a large, handsome man wearing only board shorts and a piece of cloth tying his ponytail drinks deeply from a big plastic bottle of milk before putting it into his trolley. I want to be close to enjoy looking at him, but his smell drives me away. He doesn’t look dirty but he smells unwashed — not reeking but stale. I decide he must be homeless.

Quiet Street

2012-01-18T07:59:00.003+11:00

He opens the blinds.
Sunshine
and the leafy tops of trees.

I could be waking up
on a morning in Bali
nearly 40 years back.

Garden Drama

2012-01-17T20:38:00.004+11:00

White butterfly —
no, moth, being a night creature —
on the other side of the glass.

I gaze, rapt,
at the snow-white body and legs,
the white wings outlined

by a stripe of black
following the curving shapes
just in from the edge.

Tonight again
it’s on the outside looking in
while I look back, and see

two rounded chunks
gone from the wings on one side
— torn or bitten out?

I slide open the door.
It flutters efficiently into the night
as if nothing was missing.

Photo of Mac

2012-01-16T23:53:00.005+11:00

I see that his eyes are fierce and grumbly
with pain or worry — can cats frown?

His paws are pulled in close, tight
folded arms that say ‘Keep off’.

He is ginger and pretty, soft-furred (you can tell);
white nose and chin, tiger stripes all over.

Those eyes are a definite green, clear.
Most cats’ eyes are a definite yellow.

Crouched on his cushion, he glares as if
he’s just been woken to have his photo taken.

Old Basket

2012-01-15T22:47:00.005+11:00

This round woven basket
was my mother’s button bag
when I was a little girl.

That red stain underneath
was there then, and
the green marks on the sides.

Now it’s grey with dust
in spite of washings. Straws
around the rim are broken.

It’s lost the drawstring cloth
that used to be its top,
and where have the buttons gone?

I was allowed to play with them,
lifting them out, sorting
the different colours.

I let them run, rattling,
through my fingers. Sometimes
I played they were people

My mother was 83
when she died,
thirteen years ago.

I didn’t want
expensive mementoes,
just this basket of memories.

In the Distance

2012-01-14T18:26:00.000+11:00

Two birds fly the evening cool,

one dark and quick

against the cloudy sky,

the other moving lazily,

white wings flashing

rhythmically on the dark blue hill.

Nightfall

2012-01-13T20:46:00.001+11:00

Through the blinds, dying light
pushes the trees closer

looming silhouettes, like ghosts
ringing the house

the fading sky a backdrop
for their dark shapes

which intermingle, crowding
together, drawing in

until the darkness deepens
and they vanish.

Arthritic

2012-01-12T23:25:00.002+11:00

My black cat, sleek as a snake,
climbs on to the coffee table beside me.
I take everything off to give him room.

He gazes mournfully into my eyes
swishing his long tail.
I think his arthritis is playing up again.

Tomorrow he gets his monthly injection.
It keeps him light on his feet.
I wish I could get one for mine.

Levi looking sleek

For Daniel

2012-01-11T16:35:00.001+11:00

After a hard day

I read a friend’s poem online,

phrases of evocative beauty

and I play the music he posted.

Its sonorous notes roll over me

sweet, and I lose myself.

For a long, deep moment, I want

to be eaten up by it, swallowed whole,

stay there forever, but I shake myself free.

Spider

2012-01-10T23:59:00.001+11:00

How fast and purposeful,

the small Huntsman spider

navigating our wall and ceiling —

small enough that I can see its beauty.

Yet I don’t want it above me

where it might drop.

I don’t kill these creatures,

but I do guide it outside.

Tennis

2012-01-09T20:36:00.003+11:00

She moves so fast
in that low shot,
I think I see flame
rising from the court.

When People Die

2012-01-08T23:55:00.000+11:00

I write very good poems
when people die.
Grief pulls them out of me.

And if there is grief
there might as well be poems,
turning a terrible event
to some kind of good account.

But I’d rather
still have those friends
than all the poems I wrote them.

Last Night

2012-01-07T17:33:00.001+11:00

I found out my friend died.
We have been expecting this,
still I am wrecked by it,
broken into pieces
and I can’t come back.

This morning
I woke up different,
a different person,
one I don’t know,
clumsy, ungainly stranger.
Nothing fits.

I feel lost like a child,
ugly like a child unloved.
And I don’t care
that I’m doing it wrong,
not looking at the world.

I am the world
and this morning
I woke up wrong.
Pay attention!
Last night everything
went wrong with the world.

Construction Worker

2012-01-06T12:35:00.001+11:00

His hard hat
bright yellow
sits aslant.
His smile is crooked too.

This makes him
look amused
or cheeky.
Is that an illusion?

Focus of Attention

2012-01-05T22:45:00.002+11:00

The pain in my shoulder extends
across and down and up
behind the ear
along the neck
and halfway down my back —
in all my world today
the most noticeable thing.

At Last, Summer

2012-01-04T23:11:00.001+11:00

Sun bright hot
in ample sky,
warming through skin
easing my spine.

Trees and mountains
clear, sharp-edged.
The lightest breeze.
A deep breath in.

Notes on the Process

2012-01-04T11:19:00.000+11:00

Very strange this time. I have been much indoors the last few days, therefore attending to things close at hand. Far from falling in love with the world, I seem to be taking a rather jaundiced view! Which is interesting and potentially useful to notice.

Facing Up To It

2012-01-03T23:47:00.001+11:00

My one surviving broccoli plant
finally put forth a head
from its tattered, bug-eaten leaves —
a dry, tiny thing, mostly yellow.

So I see it’s been starved for water
despite hosings, and despite
torrential downpours every other day.
I can’t slake such a thirst!

Poor thing, it’s struggled on
gamely, with great perseverance.
But it’s doomed. I have decided
not to repeat this failed experiment.

(I mean, you couldn’t even
eat the damn thing.)

Reality

2012-01-02T23:38:00.000+11:00

The cats mew plaintively
they say they are starving
but I find black feathers
scattered in ugly profusion
just outside the back door.

January 1st

2012-01-01T23:58:00.001+11:00

The new calendar
is rows of white spaces

daily doses of medicine
listed in green

pension days marked
with a big P

a few appointments
already pencilled in

no crossings out yet
no corrections

no circles with arrows
from one date to the next

nothing red for urgent
no boxes filled to overflowing

but I know it will get messy
as life does.

Rounding a corner ...

2011-12-21T18:45:00.002+11:00

high across the road
pale wattle branches
laden with blooms,
light in the sudden tunnel
of large, dark eucalypts

Home

2011-12-19T23:08:00.002+11:00

When a program set in my birthplace
comes on television —
cooking, architecture, politics —
I don’t say much
but I stop whatever I’m doing
and have a long, long look
at the background scenery.

7 Days Challenge, Day 7: Fall in love with the world

2011-11-18T08:32:00.003+11:00

Rewards

Reading people’s minds in their poetry,

seeing what they pay attention to,

I make new friends.

Writing with my attention on the world,

I return and read, and from outside

discover myself.

Actually the heading for Day 7 is, 'Join us and keep writing', along with an invitation to take a course called 'Fall in love with the world in 30 days', and to join the 'Writing Our Way Home' community — neither of which I am going to do. Not that I don't think they would be good things to do, but I have enough to keep up with already, both online and off. And I am already in love with the world; always have been.

Apart from that, the instruction for today is: Make sure you notice one thing today, too, and write it down. So this, above, is what I noticed at the end of this 7 days.

I will be engaging in the next 'River of stones' in January, with daily posts here ... and probably a few in the interim. :)

7 Days Challenge, Day 6: Peace through writing

2011-11-17T14:51:00.006+11:00

Invasion

How ungainly it looks

the young monitor lizard

scrambling up our driveway

running away from my car

jointed legs akimbo.

But it’s fast. And I’m glad

it lives on this land,

hiding most of the time —

its species has tenure

more ancient than mine.

I want to call it ‘he’

but I resist. The truth is

I don’t know. The truth

is that respect for life

refuses idle assumptions.

I do know it’s young

from the size. They can grow

three times as big. I hope

that this one will, continuing

to avoid cars and people.

(Hope I don’t need to spell out which is the invader here. May there be peace between us!)

7 Days Challenge, Day 5: Keep going

2011-11-16T23:21:00.002+11:00

Warming Up

I’m in town in my sarong.

I see another too-old woman

in a floral sun dress,

short skirt and skinny straps.

As I stop to buy diet Coke,

a bike roars away from the shop.

Thin rider in black leans forward

low over the handle bars.

There’s that hint in the air

of anticipation.Thoughts

of beaches, parties ...

my steps quicken.

7 Days Challenge, Day 4: Notice a person

2011-11-15T23:48:00.006+11:00

Home Help

So straight-backed, hard-voiced.

It takes me weeks to hear

the kindness of her words,

to see the smile in her eyes.

7 Days Challenge, Day 3: Use all your senses

2011-11-14T19:13:00.006+11:00

(or at least more of them than sight alone)

November in the Northern Rivers

The heat coats my skin like a very fine layer of oil. My cheeks and temples tingle. My hair thickens on my head, in a close cap. I like the feeling of warmth on my naked back, and the light in the long evenings lingering late.

7 Days Challenge, Day 2: Look, write and look again

2011-11-13T22:55:00.004+11:00

Cold chicken stir fry (supper)

The rice dry and crunchy

the vegetables moist, crisp.

A peanut taste ... inexplicable.

The spiciness it had at dinner, gone.

(Well, I didn't look, I tasted and felt.)

7 Days Challenge, Day 1: Go to the World

2011-11-12T10:59:00.004+11:00

Observation

The thick stems of the jade bush are dark, banded and mottled, like reptile skin.

A Birthday Present to Myself

2011-11-12T10:56:00.002+11:00

(editorial aside)

I have accepted the invitation to do Kaspalita's free 'Experience the world more deeply in 7 days' challenge. Yes, I write small stones anyway, from time to time, but I thought it would be a nice present to myself to take the opportunity to slow down for a week.

My stars for today say, 'Use this time to reconnect with your spiritual centre.' This is my way.

Tall Dandelions

2011-10-23T08:59:00.004+11:00

Tall dandelions wave

from the verge of a hill

their dancing yellow heads

dotting the thick green.

Profuse, unweeded, they release

into the open window of the car

the smell of dandelions en masse

suddenly returned from childhood.

X-Ray Vision

2011-10-14T18:37:00.004+11:00

Photos of sunsets

and reflected trees

vie with city views

on the blaring TV

for the attention

of radiology patients

who wait for their scans

with downcast eyes

failing to observe

these images.

Rain walk

2011-10-03T18:52:00.002+11:00

Today the late afternoon walkers —

risk takers — stride purposefully home.

‘I hope we beat the rain,” I call

to a young woman making good time

on the other side of the road.

‘I don’t mind rain,’ she calls back,

‘But if there’s hail ….’ Yesterday,

when I was out in my car, there was hail.

Small spots, but I wouldn’t like them

stinging my unprotected body. However

we grin at each other as we move on,

aware that already the first light drops of rain

are hitting us both with their cold barbs.

Here

2011-09-28T17:11:00.000+10:00

above all
the beauty of the trees

The Mountains at Dusk

2011-09-16T00:17:00.003+10:00

The mountains at dusk

turning blue-black

against white sky

get a sharp edge.

Trees on the top

tiny from here

stand out, you can see

every fine branch

with its curl of leaves.

Sitting in the Sun

2011-09-13T15:00:00.001+10:00

Sitting in the sun
on this tiny landing
I listen to my wind chimes
moving idly in the Spring breeze,
their mellow sound
punctuating the chirrups and shrieks
of busy nesting birds.

My cat, lying on the step
by my feet,
ignores all these noises —
just likes to be
in the sun, with me.

Jasmine

2011-08-30T16:57:00.003+10:00

Piles of jasmine cover a fence.

As I walk by, the scent takes me

far south, into the past

when my children were children

and our fence was piled with jasmine.

The Crows Are Out

2011-08-25T22:44:00.010+10:00

The crows are out on the road tonight
in the breaks between the wild, rainy weather:
moving separately, moving together
glossy black against the greying light.

Tidal River

2011-08-23T23:46:00.003+10:00

Today we've timed it perfectly. The edge

is deep enough to swim. The strong current

is out there in the middle, rippling fast,

a flashing silver ribbon – no, a fish.

A fish of glass that's rolling porpoise-like,

heading, nose down, for the entrance to the sea.

Driving in Warm Weather

2011-08-22T21:23:00.002+10:00

Driving in warm weather —

the warmth of Spring arriving

today and settling in —

I’m confident and fast

around the river bends

and up the curly hills.

(Written a year and six days ago.)

Two Fat Men

2011-08-22T21:07:00.001+10:00

Two fat men strut from the pub

clutching their bags of bottles

and head for separate cars.

Concealed by darkness,

I stare at their stiffly held bellies

which curve like waxing moons.

Written 2/10/07, rediscovered today.

Listen to the River

2011-08-22T21:05:00.006+10:00

Listen to the river,

it whispers loudly

this evening as dusk

comes down, black clouds

sitting low on the trees.

It gulps and laps the shore

as the wind springs into gusts

and over the opposite bank

unseen, but far from unheard

the ocean pounds and wallows.

Yet another oldie, this from 2008. I didn’t understand what some of these were when I wrote them; they seemed to be inconclusive fragments. Now I recognise them as small stones, observations made in the moment, complete in themselves.

The Creek, Pottsville

2011-08-20T12:55:00.002+10:00

December 2006

I play in the rippling river,

kicking against the current

and letting it float me back,

then rest on a hummock of sand

under the shallow surface.

The pelicans have departed

to the trees on the further bank.

Beyond, I hear the roar

of the surging ocean.

One suddenly flies right over me

feet tucked up, its wide wings

surprising me, half black.

(Another oldie I've been tinkering with.)

In This Overlap Zone

2011-08-20T01:25:00.000+10:00

In this overlap zone

between tropic and temperate

periwinkles bloom beside hibiscus,

clover grows in the grass

under the frangipani.

Market Moments

2011-08-18T17:58:00.001+10:00

Pottsville Beach Sunday Market 6 Sept.’ 09

The market ground
drying out under surface dew
resists my tent pegs.

Bouncing and laughing
in their mothers’ arms,
two babies hold my gaze.

The skirt seller
suddenly, casually,
tells me her whole life story.

I bring home
two bottles of red
captive, held by the necks.

Going through old poems, I came across these jottings which, though not recent, seem to belong among the small stones. (The previous post is also a rescued and reworked fragment of an older draft.)

Remembering Pottsville Beach

2011-08-18T00:03:00.002+10:00

Sharp mornings promising heat.
Thunderous across balmy air
the constant, repetitive boom of waves.

I Watch His Sleeping face

2011-08-17T16:52:00.000+10:00

Although my love is old
I look at him and see,
dreaming unguarded,
a sweetly serious child
in a private moment.

Driving

2011-08-12T19:03:00.002+10:00

Driving, I notice
I am singing old songs,
very old, that my father sang:

Day-zee, Day-zee
I-rene Goodnight
Meet / Me In / St Louis, Louis ...

My father loved cars and driving.
I notice I’m bringing him back
to sit with me as I drive,
and sing with me.

My Two Cats

2011-08-09T08:56:00.002+10:00

my two cats
curl like commas
in opposite directions
head butting head
fast asleep
after frisking like kittens
an hour ago

Night Falls Down

2011-08-01T17:29:00.001+10:00

Night falls down on the street,
a line of light edging the hills
the palest tinge of pink.
I close the blinds reluctantly
to keep out not the dark but the cold.

Late Morning

2011-07-31T16:14:00.003+10:00

He is resting under the blankets
one arm thrown up against his head,
eyes closed, face pale.

Later I hear him wake;
he is murmuring to the cat.
Then I hear him singing.

Myself at Breakfast

2011-07-29T08:27:00.006+10:00

I tilt my head right back
draining the strawberry taste
of my diet shake breakfast
and its soft, creamy texture.
Then with one finger I prise off
the bright pink top of the shaker
to spoon out what’s left
on its sluggish way down the sides
thick like oozing lava, but cool,
deliciously cool.

Winter Evening, My Place

2011-07-28T16:04:00.002+10:00

I can see the grey rain
hanging heavy in the clouds over there
coming down close to cover the mountains.
I can almost feel it in the cold air
which tingles like fine drops of water.

Two green lorikeets with deep red beaks
tumble above me, flying low
and disappear, shrieking in play,
into the bottlebrush tree.

Awakening

2011-07-27T07:34:00.006+10:00

They were miaowing for breakfast.
I groaned, turned over, went back to sleep.
They waited awhile. A little later, the black one
leapt softly on to the bed. I opened my eyes
to a gentle touch on my arm with his paw
and an earnest, questioning gaze. He even
had his claws retracted. So polite!

And It's Not Even Spring!

2011-07-26T16:33:00.000+10:00

Hanging out the washing,
I hear, ‘Click, click’ on the fence posts,
turn and see green face, red beak
pecking at the vines, not a bit afraid
of my proximity. But by the time
I fetch the camera — gone.

I had to get the bird book out.
It was a Scaly Breasted Lorikeet,
my first. (I deplore the name.
Those ‘scales’ are bright feathers.)

Morning Sun

2011-07-25T10:21:00.002+10:00

Even through closed blinds
the morning sun
dances into my kitchen.

The Garden My Father Made

2011-07-24T01:44:00.002+10:00

I wake from a dream

of my childhood garden,

magickal garden,

my personal Paradise.

Only now, in my old age,

I realise my Dad made it,

that place of my happiness.

Then, I simply enjoyed.

Playtime

2011-07-23T16:34:00.001+10:00

That hard, percussive sound

of a football repeatedly kicked

resounds along our street.

The boys are back from school.

The cats watch through the flywire.

They avoid catching my eye.

The fur is lifting on their necks.

They do not ask to be let outside.

Hurting

2011-07-22T22:56:00.001+10:00

When the pain is bad,

sometimes he gets very quiet.

He seems absent-minded,

his expression saying

he can barely tell who I am.

Then it tires him at last

and he drops asleep in his chair.

I don’t know their name, but ...

2011-07-21T17:27:00.004+10:00

The orange flowers on the vine

cascade down my fence,

brightening the dusk

as it comes to my garden.

What My Eye Lights On

2011-07-20T20:21:00.003+10:00

(another six things)

The big tub of honey on the bench

candied now, dull gold through the plastic;

a present from our neighbour Joseph

whose friend has a hive.

My little red hand torch

in case of a blackout.

The blue handle of my office scissors

sticking out past the surrounding pens

in the white mug on my desk —

the mug, with drawings around the sides:

a delicate peacock; rosebuds.

A photo of my firstborn, graduating

in his black gown and mortar-board,

holding a rolled white scroll.

(He still had his blonde hair then.)

Overlooking my laptop
a tiny, gold-painted statue of Bast.

I wake up and see ...

2011-07-19T08:52:00.005+10:00

Andrew pushing his wheely walker,

bending forward in his navy pyjamas.

The bright white mercury light globe

reflected in the bedroom mirror.

The dream catcher Irene made us years ago

hanging in the window; its feathers and beads.

Big black Levi climbing on the bed and purring,

making a pounce for a dangling cord.

Two little pictures my father painted,

one in northern Tasmania, one on Flinders Island.

Their dark wood frames; the orange tones of the earth;

the dull green trees, cloudy skies, pale water.

The discarded picnic rug thrown off the bed.

Its tartan pattern: warm red and lots of soft blue.

Inspired by Linda Gregg getting her writing students to write down every day six things they’d seen, as reported by Fiona Robyn in The physical world pours in.

Apu

2011-07-18T18:19:00.006+10:00

The mountain is a profile of a man’s face.

He lies on his side, looking up:

long nose, strong chin, sloping forehead.
On a very clear day, the cave halfway up

is visible, forming an eye.

In Peru, the village of Aquas Calientes

is right beside a mountain

with a vast ear on its side ...

Oh, I have had and am having

such a lovely life!

(Apu is the Peruvian word for mountain spirits — to put it very simply.)

Passage

2011-07-18T18:18:00.002+10:00

I pass the house that was Christa’s.

The weatherboards are blue now

under the white gables.

All the same, it looks old.

Breath

2011-07-18T08:04:00.003+10:00

I notice the blessing of breath.

After being breathless, I savour

breathing deep and free.

In Pain

2011-07-17T08:03:00.000+10:00

Pain reduces him.

A day of pain, and he

can focus on little else.

He becomes the pain;

it consumes him,

crowding out the not-pain

that used to be himself.

Bed in the Morning

2011-07-16T18:28:00.007+10:00

It’s cold, but they’re cosy:

the cats wound around each other

and the man who peeps bright-eyed

from piled-up pillows and doona.

And there's a space for me.

She wants her dinner early

2011-07-15T19:56:00.005+10:00

With him, her miaow is low and plaintive.

She knows he, tender-hearted,

will give in to her pleading

unless I intervene.

I am the strict one

who will make her wait.

With me, a different voice:

sharp and shrill, she swears at me in Cat.

The Geraniums

2011-07-14T10:29:00.005+10:00

The geraniums

newly replanted

lie all over the ground.

From their small pot

they grew up bright and tall.

Now in their bed of mulch

they sprawl horizontal

looking too tired to care.

Dusk

2011-07-13T17:50:00.002+10:00

A ragged feather of smoke

lifts from behind the hill

past darkening trees.

Birds are flocking

for their resting places.

‘It’s cold,’ says Andrew.

‘Come inside

and shut the door.’

Writing Small Stones

2011-07-12T07:50:00.003+10:00

‘It’s difficult,’ he says, and it is —

looking out, paying attention

to the world as it is, not

our ideas of the world.

‘Look!’ I say and he does,

then struggles to write. I read

and see that he, who is storyteller,

must shape even these

into stories. Of course!

Hospital Worker

2011-07-11T19:41:00.001+10:00

She looks young:

quick stride, red shirt,

blonde curls caught at the neck

and thick ponytail bouncing.

She rings the bell

at the Patient Area Centre,

walks straight in, drops

a document on a desk, returns.

Only then, as she strides back

towards me, the way she came,

I notice that her face

is tired, and not young.

Dining room / office: flashes of red

2011-07-10T10:44:00.004+10:00

I look around the room and see flashes of red: the covers of scattered notebooks; a discarded cap slung over the back of a chair; the gauze bag holding talismans; a close-up tulip cut from a magazine and displayed on the facing wall of my desk; beside it the print of Bette’s woodcut, rose-hips on a branch; the ribbons and pom-poms on clown figurines I collect; the red ‘zero messages’ sign on my desktop phone; the tomato sauce bottle nearly empty; the cap on the peanut butter jar; the torch handy on the bench in case of blackout; the handle of the little paring knife; the red plastic legs of the folding clothes-horse; a pair of bright red underpants hanging to dry; the stylised flowers on the cushion covers; pictures of fruit on the place mats — strawberries, apples, deep red grapes; my bookstand for easier reading at the table; the red star on my ‘urgent’ file; my tabasco sauce ...

I watch the TV chef

2011-07-09T21:40:00.004+10:00

I watch the TV chef

preparing crayfish

the white flesh filling

the bright orange shell.

He takes a fat claw

and slices it across.

As he pulls out the meat

and drops it into his mouth

I smell and taste it,

the succulent tang

as fresh and sweet

as in my childhood.

Note: Crayfish is the Australian term for lobster.

Revealing!

2011-07-08T10:38:00.000+10:00

Watching a tense episode of ‘Angel’

I find myself sucking my thumb.

Mixed Up

2011-07-07T22:47:00.000+10:00

Autumn here fools the plants
with false Spring every year.
Now that it’s winter, the frangipani
has lost those brief, wrong blooms.

The lady who lived here before
planted cherry tomatoes. They
are still fruiting in winter, climbing
all over the bare frangipani stems.

The flowers Teresa gave me

2011-07-06T09:08:00.000+10:00

The flowers Teresa gave me
are still fresh and bright

upright in the vase
after nine whole days

clumps of yellow and white
with long green leaves

and in the centre
one red carnation.

Close View

2011-07-05T08:03:00.000+10:00

Looking out at my garden, I see
the tiniest spider, a delicate speck
on the other side of the glass.

A little further along, two insects,
small but twice the spider’s size,
hang wrapped and still in web cocoons.

At darkfall

2011-07-04T17:33:00.000+10:00

Pale winter sunset. The trees
along the top of the far hill
make edges of black lace.

As we lay in bed last night

2011-07-03T10:24:00.003+10:00

As we lay in bed last night
a low, distant whirr began
only just audible, ominous.
The wind, I thought; but
it sounded unnatural.

Would this be the night
of the invader — human
or extraterrestrial, either way
alien — arriving by stealth;
would this be our death?

Joy

2011-07-02T22:34:00.002+10:00

The preacher spoke of inner joy,
how to find that in small things.

I looked up and saw my friend
coming in through the door.

The Cats Curled

2011-07-02T08:41:00.001+10:00

The cats curled
at the foot of the bed
mirror each other's poses
exactly: two circles of fur.

The Cat with Shining Eyes

2011-07-01T01:38:00.002+10:00

The cat with shining eyes
rests in my arms all night,
her love no less deep or true
than that of humans.

Her Smile

2011-06-27T13:02:00.000+10:00

Her smile
makes her suddenly young.
I see
her surprising beauty.

For Fiona and Kaspa on their Wedding Day

2011-06-18T22:12:00.003+10:00

I looked at the mountain
from the opposite side of the valley
and saw in the middle air
the same two eagles (life mates)
wheel and soar.

Small Stone Blogsplash – we need your help…

2011-06-01T08:54:00.002+10:00

Kaspa & Fiona have taken over my blog for today, because they
need our help.

They are both on a mission to help the world connect with the world
through writing. They are also getting married on Saturday the 18th of
June.

For their fantasy wedding present, they are asking people across the
world to write them a ‘small stone’ and send it to us using this form. You can also post the stone on your blog, or facebook or on twitter using the #aros hashtag.

A small stone is a short piece of observational writing – simply pay
attention to something properly and then write it down. Find out more
about small stones here.

If you’re willing to help, we’d love you to do two things:

1) Re-post this blog on your own blog any time before June the 18th and
give your readers a chance to hear about what we’re doing. You can
simply copy and paste the text, or you can find the html
here.

2) Write us a small stone on our wedding day whilst we’re saying our
vows and eating cake, post it on your blog, and send
it to us.

You can find out more about our project at our website, Wedding Small
Stones, and you can also read our blog at A River of Stones.

We also have a July challenge coming soon, when we’ll be challenging
you to notice one thing every day during July and write it down.

Thank you for listening, and we hope we’ll be returning from our
honeymoon to an inbox crammed with small stones, including yours.

Kaspa & Fiona

Tear Storm

2011-05-18T23:39:00.002+10:00

Suddenly I’m bawling
like a child, loud and wild.
I’ve been strong too long.